I have no real idea on screenplay structure, so you’ll have to forgive this. Anyway, its just for fun, right?
The uniformed and code named Reservoir Dogs walk across the street en masse as we see them at the end of the opening sequence minus Mr. Brown who remains parked across the street in the getaway vehicle. The group reaches the entrance to the store and Mr. White opens the door for his companions to enter single file. They do so in an inconspicuous manner (as inconspicuos as five guys with black suits and matching sun glasses can manage) and enter the lobby; except for Mr. Orange. Mr. White, before entering himself, turns to his betrayer, pats him on the shoulder, whispers the punchline to an obscene joke, and gives him a playful slap on the face before entering himself. Orange turns around with a look on his face as if he’s just eaten something that didn’t agree with his stomache, and starts to adjust his tie.
We cut away to Mr. White entering the store with everyone else. Inside are few of the generally cliched heist flick victims. We have the fat, old security guard dozing at his post, the feminine and sexually attractive blonde - this time accompanied by a young black friend -; we have the young, fairly handsome male professional, the middle aged married couple, and among a few bland others, we throw in a dirty old senile bastard. The men wait in a group, taking off their sunglasses or fingering their pistols in their holsters, waiting for Mr. White. He approaches, spitting out his toothpick, pulls the pistol out of his holster, and nods to the others. They pull out their weapons, and Mr. Blonde fires his gun into the air. Everyone screams, and ducks in reaction; the security old security guard is still asleep in a rickety old rocking chair by door snoring loudly.
Mr. Blonde: All right ladies and gentleman, you know the drill. Everyone down on the fucking ground. 'No one moves, mouths off, or touches any goddamn alarms, and we’ll all be going home. Capice?
Everyone, frightened and anxious at the site of four men armed with pistols, do as Mr. Blonde says, and get down on their hands and knees - except of course, for the guard. Blue takes up a position near the entrance, and Blonde moves to a position at the other end of the lobby area. White and Pink walk behind the counters.
Mr. Pink (going into the crazy Buscemi thing and storming around): Alright, where the fuck is the manager! Stand the fuck up you asshole!
We see the manager stand up just next Pink, a balding fellow, hands up in the air, sweating profusely under the armpits as can be seen by the stains on under the arms of his cheap dress t shirt. Pink aims his gun at the guy.
Manager: I’m the manager! Listen we don’t want any-
Mr. Pink: Shut the fuck up, asshole! Don’t say a motherfucking word!
Pink grabs the manager by the collar as he’s saying this and jams the barrel up under his chin. The man is sweating and panting heavily.
Mr. White: You’re coming with us, buddy.
White calmly, but firmly, grabs the store manager by the back of his shirt and leads him into a back office room, with a glass window facing out into the lobby, opened shades are obscuring some of the view of the inner office composed of filing cabinets, destk, etc. Mr. Pink follows behind like a puppy. We here the manager mumbling some pleas for mercy as Pink slams the door shut. Shortly after, the blinds in the office close, and everyone in the lobby can no longer see whats going on, but rather, can still hear the shouts and cursing of Mr. Pink.
Blonde and Blue stand quietly in the lobby guns pointed at no particular person. The young women are crying, some of the people are whispering to each other or are praying, the old man is muttering curses under his breath, and the guard is still sound asleep.
Mr. Blue: Whadda you think?
Mr. Blonde: Huh?
Mr. Blue: About what Mr. Brown said- You believe “Like a Virgin” is really about dick?
Mr. Blonde: Nah, not for a fucking second- its about love not dick.
Mr. Blue: Then why didn’t you say anything else about it?
Mr. Blonde: The same fuckin reason you don’t every time Mr. Brown goes off on a rant. He likes the sound of his own fuckin voice, and to top it off he was wired off of six cups of coffee…so I did what any rational fuckin human being would do in that situation and let him run his mouth. There wasn’t any point in arguing with him over it, and the last thing I want is a pissed off getaway driver takin me away from a job.
Mr. Blue: You gonna argue about it when we get back?
Mr. Blonde: Probably, yeah.
We hear Mr. White growl out a curse at the manager from behind the closed door, accompanied by the eerie high pitched squeal of a man howling in pain. The women huddle closer together, and are sobbing at this point.